


The Dreams In Which I'm Dying

by NeverSatisfiedGirl (Kalli_Ravenne)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (only slightly though), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Canonical Character Death, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Decapitation, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Loss, Family Secrets, Minor Character Death, Past Violence, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:43:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8721241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalli_Ravenne/pseuds/NeverSatisfiedGirl
Summary: In the midst of his darkest hour, Sam finds solace and a hope he thought he lost in a mysterious visitor. Too bad he doesn't know her name yet.





	1. I Find It Hard to Tell You, I Find It Hard to Take

**Author's Note:**

> Characters: Sam x Reader, Dean, Shawn (OMC), Dr. Dupea (OMC)
> 
> Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mild withdrawal symptoms
> 
> Prompt: [Mad World (featuring Michael Rosenbaum)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ifCGEpDwmxQ) by Jason Manns
> 
> A/N: Hello hello! This one was for [@i-like-your-assbutt](https://tmblr.co/mXm2_Pg9IvjrWm62vips3BA)‘s Jason Manns Covers With Friends Album Challenge; however, life decided to kick my ass a few good times and it never made the deadline. Just the same, I’ve decided to post it anyway after my PC decided to further screw me over. All is well now. 
> 
> This one got away from me. I wanted something scary but got something dark and very much an AU. It’s definitely going to continue, however, as there is a lot more to tell. Hope you enjoy it!

I couldn’t stop shivering.  


The small barred window allowed for the light of the moon to touch the pallid skin of my hand. Sweat poured from my face as I trembled on the sterile bed of the sterile room. I wasn’t sure how long I had been here. Or the last time I slept. Or the last bit of food I could keep in my stomach. I couldn’t even remember a night where I didn’t wake up screaming. 

But I would remember the voice in the darkness. The soft lilt of a female. But this sound felt familiar…it resonated so deeply within me, and I didn’t know why.

She soothed me with cold towels when my body felt as though it were on fire, made sure I was warm when everything felt cold, and kept me hydrated. Her touch was instantly calming, and she handled me carefully as she lifted my head and rested it in her lap. 

I could not see her face. The darkness cast her in a perfect silhouette. The soft moonlight shone behind her in such an ethereal way, I almost thought she was a dream. 

So I asked her in a pained rasp, “Am I dreaming?”

Her song stopped. I could swear I heard a smile in her voice as she replied, “I could wake you up if you like.”

I managed a weak chuckle. The angel in the shadows apparently had a sense of humor. 

She kept stroking my hair. A wet drop fell against my forehead, followed by another. Was she crying? Were those tears for me? “Are you okay…” I went into a sudden coughing fit, the air burning my lungs. She rubbed my back and chest with gentle hands until the spell subsided. 

“Shhh, don’t talk too much. Here…” In her hands was an unopened bottle of spring water. The cap twisted with a quiet snap and she brought the bottle to my lips, encouraging me to drink. The water stung at first, but the slow, cautious swallows I took of the cool liquid eased the burning in my chest. Breathing deeply, I lay my head in her lap again. I tried to look into the shadows that hid her face, but the darkness revealed nothing about this mysterious visitor.

“Feeling better?” The angel asked.

I gave a weak nod in response. “Will you stay with me?”

The angel replied softly, slowly, “Just until you fall asleep.”

“But…” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I can’t. Sleep, I mean. Nightmares…”

There was a beat of silence. 

Then… I heard humming. Quiet and melodic. The angel began to sing softly to me in a voice that both made my heart ache and gave my mind pause from the constant thoughts buzzing through it. 

_“All around me are familiar faces, worn out places, worn out faces…”_

I knew that song. 

_“Bright and early for the daily races, going nowhere, going nowhere…”_

It was…I haven’t heard that in years. Not since… **her.**  
  
_“Their tears are filling up their glasses, no expression, no expression._  
_Hide my head, I wanna drown my sorrow._  
_No tomorrow, no tomorrow…”_

My eyelids grew heavy as she continued her somber lullaby. I breathed her in as I began to drift further away. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so… calm. Or loved. 

_“And I find it kind of funny,_

_I find it kind of sad,_

_the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had,_

_I find it hard to tell you,_

_I find it hard to take._

_When people run in circles, it’s a very very…mad world.”_

This angel, whoever she was, touched me without fear or latex gloves. I wasn’t sure what to think of kindness from a virtual stranger. 

But I was scared as hell of losing it.

**

**Video Journal**

**December 21st, 2015**

**1:27am**

> _It’s been about four days since Sam Winchester, the man who saved my life, appeared outside of my building. And I’m still in shock._
> 
> _The doctors said that his blood alcohol content was off the charts, that he hadn’t slept, and had he been found an hour or so later, he would have succumbed to hypothermia. He was so thin, eyes red and sunken, gaunt… How he managed to find his way through this freezing weather with no coat on, I have no fucking clue. I rushed him to UIC, the closest and the best medical center in the city. Hours after his admission, he was taken into emergency detox to get the alcohol out of his system quickly and safely_
> 
> _I reached out to his brother Dean, letting him know that Sam was in a hospital here in Chicago and being well taken care of. It was hard to tell him how his brother seemed dead set on drinking himself to an early grave, but Dean explained everything. In a way that only Dean Winchester ever could: brusque, laconic, and very brazen. He understood why I did what I did, but to know it affected Sam like this, I…  
>    
>  Dean made me promise to take care of him, at least until he got there. I told him that I would have anyway, promise or no promise. _
> 
> _Tonight I visited him. The detox wasn’t quite as bad as it was when the withdrawal symptoms set in. Sweating, restlessness, body aches, night terrors, the involuntary kicking. Better than full-on DTs, that’s for damn sure._
> 
> _It was so strange seeing him…it felt like it had been so many years since the last time, he’s changed so much. He still has those magnetic hazel eyes, even with the dark circles under them. His face is defined, with a more square jaw than I remembered. He looked a bit scruffy and his russet brown hair was longer. I always thought it was kinda cute._
> 
> _He was responsive, which was a very good sign. Tears came to my eyes. I couldn’t help it…they just fell, right on his forehead. He said that he couldn’t sleep because of nightmares, so I just… sang him to sleep. It seemed to work._
> 
> _I got up to leave and…_
> 
> _I can still hear his voice. In a small whisper, he said, “Come back to me, angel.”_
> 
> _My heart broke. I wanted to weep right then and there. But I swallowed it back. I promised him that I would come back soon._
> 
> _During my conversation with his doctor, he informed me that he hadn’t been a heavy drinker for long. He would recover quickly and could be released once he was able to function normally again, which could be a week or two. I trusted that he knew best, not that I had a choice. He also reminded me that I’ll have to eventually tell Sam who I really am._
> 
> _I told him I will cross that bridge when I get to it. And hope to God that Sam doesn’t want to burn it before then._
> 
> _He’ll be okay. I can’t explain why anonymity is important right now, but it is. For his sake and mine._
> 
> _I lost him once already. No way in hell am I losing him again._
> 
> _END OF JOURNAL ENTRY_

**

“Good morning, Sam! How are you feeling today?” 

A few days ago, that voice would have grated on my fucking nerves. Like nails-on-a-chalkboard-mixed-with-glass-in-a-blender-mixed-with-Fran-Drescher’s-nasal-laugh grating. 

Today, even with the cold light of the sterile room stinging my eyes, it doesn’t seem so bad. I managed a “morning” back to the annoyingly chipper male orderly as he handed me a small plastic cup of apple juice. In a couple of swallows, the juice was gone. 

“You have an appointment with your doctor in about an hour,” the orderly (Shawn, according to his name tag) said after taking the cup back and handing me a clear plastic bag with two towels, a bottle of body wash, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and deodorant.

“What time is it?” I mumbled, brushing the grit from my eyes.

“It’s 8:23 a.m., and a beautiful day outside,” Shawn grinned. “Anything for breakfast?”

Not sure if I trusted my stomach to keep any food, I asked for more apple juice. 

“Alright, not a problem,” he replied before (finally) leaving the room. I leaned against the wall, bumping my head hard. Not a smart idea. Shit.

**

“How are you today, Sam?” Dr. Dupea asked.

“Well, I don’t feel like I swallowed lava, so I guess that’s alright,” I said, rolling my eyes. 

He chuckled. “That’s a good thing. Means your system is getting back to normal. The worst part of it is over, which means we can go into the next stage of your -”

“I saw her again, Doc,” I blurted out. 

He just looked at me. “Your nightly visitor?”

“Yeah.” I took a deep breath. “Last night, she came to me again.” My voice got really quiet as I started to explain. “I couldn’t see her face, but…she had this soft…really gentle voice, and… she made me feel so… just really good, Doc.” 

“Hmmm…” He nodded. “She spoke to you?”

“Yeah.” Why the fuck was I so nervous all of a sudden?

He just nodded. “What did she say to you?”

I strained to remember. Everything was so muffled. All that came clearly to my mind was the melody she sang. 

“She, um, sang to me…” I was irritated, hating that my memory was shit at this point. “I just…am I just going fucking crazy, Doc?” 

“Do _you_ think you’re going crazy?”

Reverse psychology. This bastard was good. “I don’t know what to think. I just…” I ran my fingers through my still damp hair. “All I know is… I haven’t felt that… that good…in a really long time. She made me feel…peaceful, I guess. I don’t know if I was dreaming or seeing things, Doc…but….it was so real.”

Doc studied me for a while. It was making me more anxious. “What the fuck are you thinking, Doc?” I snapped. 

The fucker smiled. Then he reached for something under his desk. In his hands was a brown paper-wrapped box. “A care package arrived for you this morning.”

I took it from his hands carefully. “Any idea who it’s from?”

“The person wishes to remain anonymous,” he replied simply, adding, “But they were particularly concerned ever since they found you that night and brought you here.” 

I ripped apart the paper and opened the box. Every part of me froze. 

In the box was my iPod Touch, my ear-buds, a paperback copy of _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_ by Seth Grahame-Smith, and… 

Jesus fucking Christ.

A quart tin of Garrett’s Chicago Mix popcorn. I haven’t had this since… the last time I saw her. 

“Saw who, Sam?” Doc asked curiously. I hadn’t realized I said that last thought aloud.

Breathing deeply, I replied slowly as memories came to the surface, “This girl I met a couple of years ago.” 

“I see. Who is she to you?” he pressed.

“Well…I saved her life once. We’re best friends. We were, anyway.”

Doc nodded in understanding. “When was the last time you saw her?”

I closed my eyes as the answer left my lips: “Seven months ago.”

No. Not letting myself go there right now. I stopped the flood of memories that threatened to overwhelm me. 

I held up the tin and felt paper held in place by a strip of tape. There wasn’t a name on it, and the message was typewritten. It read:

> **_I thought this might help keep you occupied._**  
>  **Your doctor said these would be okay for you to keep.**  
>  **The charging port is new and I hope it serves you well.**  
>  **If there is anything else you need,**  
>  **let Dr. Dupea know and I’ll make sure you have it.**  
>  **Take care.**

I read it aloud to Doc, who simply nodded as if he knew something I didn’t. “What aren’t you telling me, Doc?”

There’s that pensive look on his face. “I am not at liberty to say, Sam. They only said they would meet with you when your program was complete. Until then, they are here to help you in any way they can.”

“So I have some kind of ‘secret admirer’ now?” 

Now he looked amused. That smug bastard. “Just someone obviously concerned for your safety, Sam. That’s all. And you are scheduled to meet them” - he flipped through a couple pages in his book - “in about two weeks at the earliest, if we can get you healthy in that time.”

Shit. “What, no time off for good behavior?” I joked weakly.

“We’ll see. Depending on how well you recover. You have counseling and treatment to look forward to, and there’s still the matter of your outpatient care.”

This would have been perfect for a smart-ass remark. But if I were honest with myself, I was tired. I was so fucking tired. All I wanted was to get this out of my system, go back to Dean, and forget about this past year. 

I nodded in agreement, determined to get better and get the hell out of dodge. 

**

As I lay on my back in my dimly lit room, I was shaking. Why the fuck can’t I stop shaking? 

I was sweating bullets, breathing hard and fast, as if I had been running. Or drowning in my dreams. It didn’t feel as bad as the times before, and I knew it was just easier to ride it out rather than fight it. 

But this hurts. This fucking hurts.

I didn’t hear anyone come in. But I felt movement as someone sat down lightly next to me in bed. I felt the delicate touch of fingers moving the damp hair from my forehead, touching me with so much care and tenderness that I nearly cried. No one had touched me like this in… too damn long.

“Hello, Sam.” That sweet voice, making me feel so calm.

“Angel?” I rasped out. 

She laughed softly. “That’s your name for me?”

My face felt warm. Was I blushing? At least it was dark, I mused in my head. “Is there another name I can call you?”

“It’s fine. I like it.”

I smiled, then winced. Another wave of burning nausea churned in my stomach, but it passed just as quickly as it started. Good. The last thing I needed was to spew bile all over my caring visitor. 

That’s when it occurred to me: I hadn’t fallen asleep or blacked out as I had a few times before.

“You’re real,” I breathed. “I thought I had been dreaming this whole time. Or losing my mind.”

Another soft laugh. “No, you’re neither of those things.”

“Oh, good. Doc won’t have to send me to the fucking insane asylum.” I managed a chuckle, finding myself strangely relieved when she joined in.

“I’d visit you there. You in a straitjacket? Priceless.” I swear I could hear the smirk in her voice.

“Ha ha,” I replied dryly, but I couldn’t help but laugh at that. I was cautious about my next question, hoping not to scare her away. “So…are you the one who, um….found me?”

Silence for a moment. Then, “I am, yes.”

“I guess I have you to thank for the care package then.”

“Your iPod fell out of your pocket… and I figured it might make this time a little easier for you.”

“Well, that and the other stuff.”

“The book is a recent favorite of mine. I highly recommend it.”

“And the popcorn?”

“Best snack in town,” she declared as if it were obvious. “It’s a crime not to have some at least once when you’re in Chicago.”

“That’s what a friend of mine used to say.” I laughed, noticing my pain had considerably subsided. I dared to ask, “Who are you?”

She sounded calmer, almost resigned when she answered. “I can’t tell you. At least not now.”

I started to argue this but she added, “It’s better this way. And besides, it’s not for long. Just until your treatment here is done.”

Begrudgingly, I conceded. “I can respect that. Just glad to know you’re real.” Which I was. 

“Sam…I know this isn’t easy to do. But that you’re still here, still fighting…I’m so proud of you.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why do you care so much? You don’t know me at all. Why is my getting better so important to you?”

“Because, a long time ago… I was in the same place you are now.” 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know. And I understand if you don’t trust me.”

“No, it’s not that,” I assured. “It’s just…you’re the first person to actually care in a long time. It’s nice.”

“I promise this will all become so much clearer. In the meantime, finish your treatment here. Dr. Dupea can be trusted. He’s a good man and knows what he’s doing. He says you’re doing so well.”

“Yeah, he’s alright.” Aside from the fact that he won’t tell me who you are, I thought to myself. “I like talking to you though. It makes this… easier somehow, I guess…knowing that there’s someone who gives a fuck, you know?”

“What about your family?”

I scoffed. “Pretty sure my brother hates me right now.”

She didn’t press the matter. “Any friends?”

I couldn’t respond to that.

“I see.” 

I swallowed at the lump in my throat, carefully choosing my words. “Besides you, there really isn’t anyone else. The ones I knew…they’re all dead.”

“I can relate to that,” she replied. “The few friends I had are long gone. The ones I trusted most…I had to leave them so they wouldn’t get hurt.”

I wanted to ask about her experience, but it sounded as though the pain was still close enough to feel. Instead I asked, “How did you deal with that?”

“It wasn’t easy. My family practically exiled me, and the counselors were much too condescending to be helpful. I just…got myself a hobby. Several, in fact.” Her soft laugh seemed to ease the tension in the room. 

I smiled. “Like what?”

“Music, for starters. I took up guitar, and can carry a tune fairly well.”

“Fairly well? From what I remember the other night, you sounded great.”

She giggled, and I never felt so warm. “Thanks. I also write. Stories, poems, random crap. And taking pictures is therapeutic too.”

“Sounds like you keep busy.”

“Anything to keep from falling back. You do get to a point where you stop feeling like it’s an uphill battle, and realize that you’ve had the tools to help you climb all along. It really does get easier in time.”

“I hope that point comes soon, angel.”

Her hand found mine in the darkness and held it gently. “Before you know it, Sam.”

**

A week and three days had flown by after that night. I was a little less pissed off at the world. But only a little.

In my downtime between meetings, with my music loud in my ears, I devoured the book my visitor had sent me, knowing that Jane Austen was doing barrel rolls in her grave when Pride and Prejudice and Zombies was published. For Christmas, she gave me an autographed copy of Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter, which I started right after finishing the first book. It was hilarious. The 16th President wielding a silver-edged axe (which was also a gun) fighting rabid bloodsuckers while freeing the slaves? He would have had my vote. 

When the mood struck me to put my thoughts to paper, she brought me a Moleskine journal and a set of fountain pens. Not exactly the simple college-ruled notebook paper and Bic pens I was looking for, but she never seemed to do anything halfway. A real class act. 

On her nightly visits, we would talk about everything and anything. Except for any personal info or her identity, she was open and kind. I enjoyed her being there and hated when the time came for her to leave. I counted her as a friend, probably the best (if not only) friend I had now. 

Dr. Dupea clearing his throat brought me back to my senses as he sat at his desk. “Good morning, Sam – how are you?” 

“Better than yesterday, Doc,” I said with a small sense of assurance.

“Good to hear. You’ve made excellent progress in the past week.” He smiled. “How do you feel?”

“Besides those dumb ass meetings you make me sit through and sitting in a circle with others while they tell those depressing stories that make me want to stab a letter opener through my ears?” I shrugged. “Alright, I guess.”

He chuckled. “That’s good. Today we’re here to sort out some of your outpatient arrangements. I understand you don’t have a place of your own to stay. However, lodging has been arranged for you thanks to one of our patrons.”

“Let me guess,” I smirked. “They wish to remain anonymous.”

“Many of our sponsors do, Sam. They would rather see our patients live their lives – that’s all the thanks they need. Some have been where you are now, in that very seat,” he explained. “The ones that make it through seek to help others.”

Hm. Makes sense. “Alright, I’ll give you that.”

“I must also remind you that during your transition stage, no excessive amounts of alcohol are allowed. Even though you aren’t a habitual drinker, your body needs time to recuperate.”

“Well there goes my homecoming party, Doc,” I joked.

The corners of his mouth barely twitched. He wasn’t amused. “This is essential to your recovery, Sam.”

I blew out a puff of air in mild exasperation. “I know that. And I do take this seriously, Doc. As a fucking heart attack.”

“But you’re concerned about relapsing.” It wasn’t a question.

I nodded reluctantly. “I’m more worried about being left out to dry again. Like, what if this person – my patron, as you call them – helps me out only to toss me back out on the street if I fuck up?”

“That’s not how it works. They never leave someone in recovery to fend for themselves, no matter how bad things get. Around here, we don’t abandon someone who needs us, Sam.”

“And how the fuck am I supposed to believe that shit?”

“You’re just going to have to trust me. And your patron.” 

I fumed. This sucked. Not knowing what was going to happen and being scared out of my fucking mind at what the future would hold, if I’d even make it through. And the thought of being at some stranger’s mercy and monitored in every move I made…this fucking sucked. But it wasn’t as bad as the other option…

I conceded, but looked my doctor straight in the eyes and asked, “Is there any way I can speak to my sponsor over the phone?” I added quickly, “I don’t care about their name, but I need to know what they plan to do with me.”

“I would think she’d want to tell you that herself.”

My eyes widened in surprise. “You mean…she’s taking me in?”

He nodded slowly. Some part of me unclenched, and I felt relieved at the thought of her – my mysterious visitor – looking out for me, even after I disrupted her life.

“You seem pleased,” Doc noted. It was then I realized that I had been grinning like an idiot the whole time. “She did say that she won’t be able to visit tonight, but she’s looking forward to seeing you tomorrow morning. You think you can contain yourself until then?”

Heaving a deep sigh, I replied, “Fine. I can do that.” Inside, I was doing celebratory back-flips.

**

The next day, I was so excited that I whistled. 

Okay, so I lied. In all honesty, I was fucked. A nervous wreck.

That’s not to say I wasn’t relieved to be getting the hell out of this place. I appreciated the support and the care I received while I was here. I was especially looking forward to meeting my sponsor – the mystery girl who saved my life that night – and being placed in her care during my transition.

But outside of that, I was actually scared. As in how-the-hell-am-I-gonna-survive-this-fucked-up-existence scared.

“You’re gonna be fine, Sam. Just remember, one day at a time.” 

“Tomorrow will take care of itself, right Doc?”

“Exactly.”

A knock at the door. A middle-aged nurse peeked in. “Dr. Dupea, you have a visitor here.”

He rose from his desk and moved toward the door. “Excuse me a moment, Sam.” He walked out, leaving the door open slightly. 

I peeked out. I couldn’t help myself. Standing in front of the doctor, back turned to me, was a figure in a long black coat and soft leather boots wet from the snow outside. Gloved hands pulled the hood down, revealing a mess of beautiful dark curls. I barely noticed myself getting up, going towards the door, and leaning against the doorway. I stared. It was her. It **had** to be her. Finally, I would meet the soul whose visits kept me sane and made me smile even when it hurt.

Dr. Dupea saw me first, the pensive look on his face changing quickly to an encouraging smile. “Sam, I’d like for you to meet your patron…”

She turned around to face me, and it was as if the air had just been sucked out of the room.

Those eyes. 

That nose.

Those lips.

It couldn’t be. 

Her name came to my lips in a whisper. 

It was her. The girl I saved. The girl I lost.

The girl who never knew I loved her.

**

“Hello, Sam.” 

Her voice was soft, sweet, as it always was. And yet those two simple words hit me like a fucking Mack truck.

Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. There was no air to be found inside. 

I bolted down the hall to the balcony doors.

Bracing myself on the rails, I look out over the frozen serenity garden below, gulping down large amounts of the cold air. Trite as it sounded, I felt as though I had seen a ghost.

I _had_ seen a ghost. _She couldn’t be real_ , I argued in my head. Even though the rest of me knew that was a lie. 

But they told me she was-

“Sam?” I spun around, coming face to face with her. 

I just stood there, transfixed. She had changed so much. Her skin was smooth and luminous. I couldn’t remember seeing her eyes so bright before. She was taller than I remembered, but had the same sweet face framed in curls. She was still so beautiful. 

And she was crying.

“I know you must be so angry with me right now…” - _Why would she think that?_ \- “and I’m sorry. And I know that’s not good enough, but I promise I will explain everything. Please don’t hate me for doing all of this. I just wanted to-”

Her name drifted from my lips. “How could you even say that?”

Fresh tears filled her eyes when I stepped forward. She was just a few inches shorter, looking up at me as I came closer. She was shivering, her lower lip trembling. She was afraid. 

I spoke to her gently, reverently. “I could _never_ hate you.”

Before either of us knew it, I slipped to my knees on the cold balcony platform. I held her close to me, pulling her by the waist until my face was buried in the softness of her coat.

And I wept. For the first time in what felt like ages.

I felt her fingers in my hair, heard her whispers in my ears. “Don’t cry, sweetie. Please don’t cry… it’s alright. Everything’s alright now.” She lowered herself to kneel, her arms enclosing me in a warmth that had reached across time to find me. 

I pulled back to brush the tears from her gentle face, and she gazed at me. She was still apologizing, pleading for forgiveness.

But there was nothing to forgive. There was only one thing that mattered.

My best friend was alive. The relief that swept over me at this revelation was intense. All this time, she had been my angel in the shadows. And she had come when I needed her the most.

I felt her shift in my arms. She rose to her feet, lifting me up with her, and led me away from the frozen balcony without another word.

The doctor’s words barely made it to my ears. She took care of the paperwork, nudging me out of my reverie to sign my name on a few documents, and joking that this was the quietest I’d ever been. I couldn’t even get upset at them for laughing, since it was true. I just smiled. Even that felt amazing. 

Carrying everyone’s best wishes and a bag of the few belongings I had, I walked out of the University of Chicago Medical Center.

I was lost, absolutely fucking gone. And I was loving every moment of it.    



	2. A Soul in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prelude in which Sam saves and befriends a singer. If he can stop staring at her long enough, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Reader
> 
> Warnings: Slightly graphic violence, decapitation, a little fluff
> 
> Word Count: 1367
> 
> Prompt: Sam, Concert, Guitar 
> 
> Featured Song: [Not the Same (featuring Kayla Reeves)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XQdDVVUqk_Q) by The Trans Siberian Orchestra **(It’s highly recommended that you listen as you read the club scene where she sings. It’s really a good song.)**
> 
> A/N: Hello hello! This one was for my love [@chaos-and-the-calm67](https://tmblr.co/mg7JSFDVz1nQ-jG9E6-3eOw) and her Birthday Challenge! I was stuck for a moment when it came to the prompt, but when I started this new fic, the prompt spun into what you’re about to read. 
> 
> Because this is going to go pretty deep, it helps to know how Sam came to know his Angel. This takes place in Chicago and this meeting helps set the dynamic they share. I’ll definitely revisit this time period throughout the fic. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Special thanks to my darling Bev for being my fresh set of eyes and my biggest cheerleader! Love you, babe!

_Chicago, two years earlier…_

The Green Dolphin club was packed with elitists and hipsters alike. Shades of green and black and brown covered the walls and floors, with plush and modern furniture that highlighted the theme. From my table near the stage I looked over at Dean who, true to form, was working the bar and charming a leggy blonde. 

This wasn’t entirely a pleasure stop - we were keeping our eyes open for sightings of vampires. Four people had been found within proximity of this place, completely drained. And another had come up missing. 

So far, nothing yet, and it’s kinda hard to focus when someone’s vaping at the table next to yours and producing large clouds that smell weirdly like toaster strudel. It was so annoying I barely noticed that someone came to the stage to sing until I heard a soft, smoky voice over the tinkling of piano keys and the gentle strum of a nylon guitar.

> _“I heard a note in the dark,_
> 
> _where it slipped into my mind,_
> 
> _and somehow still remains._
> 
> _Time comes and goes,_
> 
> _ebbs and flows,_
> 
> _and somehow that single note_
> 
> _still rings on and sustains…_
> 
> _For I need someone,_
> 
> _not just anyone,_
> 
> _and when all is said and done,_
> 
> _anyone, anyone else_
> 
> _is not the same.”_

Her voice is magnetic, commanding, even as her body language spoke of her desire to shrink away and let the music speak for itself. Couldn’t imagine why though - I could stare at her all day and listen to her sing. 

> _“There was a soul in the dark,_
> 
> _and it flies across the night_
> 
> _towards a far distant flame._
> 
> _‘Cross forests and streets,_
> 
> _every beat keeps it moving towards a goal_
> 
> _it may never obtain…”_

Not gonna lie. I’m really hoping she’s not a vampire. I’d hate to kill her. There are plenty of things I’d love to do, but not that. 

She’s looking through the crowd as the guitarist continues to play. It isn’t for very long because her wide gentle eyes rest on - 

Wait. She’s looking at me?

She’s singing the last verses as she’s looking me right in the eyes.

> _“You were the hope that I kept_
> 
> _secretly inside and by_
> 
> _my whole life it was framed._
> 
> _Some never saw or suspected_
> 
> _that it was there and I_
> 
> _all alone knew your name._
> 
> _For we need someone,_
> 
> _not just anyone,_
> 
> _and when all is said and done,_
> 
> _anyone, anyone else_
> 
> _is not the…same.”_

The crowd cheers as she takes her bow and humbly thanks the crowd. I sit in stunned amazement, feeling as if she had just stripped me bare. 

Yeah. Really hoping she’s not a vamp.

**

If it wasn’t for the GQ model with the kind eyes sitting upfront, I would have crumpled into a ball of tears on that stage. 

The club owner and a few performers had praised me for having the guts to sing in public for the first time in my life. Before anymore could come, I slip out the back door into the alley.

I’m glad they didn’t notice I was on the verge of a full-on panic attack the whole time. That I was intentionally trying to make myself small. I had never done anything like this before, but after my best friend poked and prodded me (out of love, naturally) to give it a try, I couldn’t find it in me to say no. 

Smoking isn’t supposed to be good for the voice. But because I had moments of severe anxiety (and because marijuana still wasn’t legal, fucking hell), salvia became a necessity where pills failed to do the job. And surprisingly, the smoke isn’t harsh at all. Plus, it’s non-addictive, so those so-called health experts can suck it.

Breathing the sweet herbal smoke into my lungs from my salvia cigarette, I feel the tightness unraveling in my chest and I think about GQ’s eyes. They reminded me of early autumn leaves, all green and gold with hints of brown earth and blue sky. He wasn’t like everyone else. There was no judgement about him. How is someone _that_ gorgeous not a judgmental prick? He didn’t even look away when I made eye contact.

He did blush a little though, and that was cute.

“That was a nice performance out there, pretty lady.”

I jumped off the wall at the intrusion of my privacy. There’s a guy in the alley with me that looks like he stepped out of the pages of a rejected draft of Twilight. High cheekbones, eyes shaded in darkness, slicked-back blonde hair, black trench coat… could he have been any **less** original?

I didn’t say anything, just nodded and waved. And stayed to the lights.

Casually, I put out my cigarette and turn to go indoors to avoid a potentially bad situation. 

“He paid you a compliment, girl. Show him some respect.” 

Great. _Two_ yahoos. 

This other one was equally pretentious and creepy, but with dark hair in a low ponytail.

I reply steadily, “Perhaps he should have respect enough not to accost a girl when she’s alone in the dark.” 

Before I make it through the door, a vice grip in my hair yanks me back and throws me against the wall. Both stare me down, mouths open, and a second row of pointed teeth appear.

“But this is how we like to catch all our prey. And you’re on the menu.”

I grip the syringe in my coat pocket, wishing I had grabbed a second one.  And maybe another knife. Shit. 

“Well boys, I should warn you…you won’t be taking this meal to-go.”

Before they can close in, I raise a sharp knee to Blondie’s nuts to get some breathing room, and plunge the syringe full of dead man’s blood into Ponyboy’s heart, putting him down for the count. 

This night just keeps getting better.

**

“Dean, over here!” I call out. 

We race down the alley to the scuffle. There’s one writhing on the ground with a syringe in his chest. And the other vamp?

Pinning the singer from earlier to the brick wall, ready to strike. 

Machete in hand, I run up behind as she headbutts the vamp and ducks her head down. The head falls cleanly as the body drops. Dean beheads the poisoned vamp - our missing person. It was too late for him; he’d had his first kill and the change was permanent. Telling his aunt was going to be difficult.

“Thanks,” I hear her say as she rose to her feet. “I really should have brought two of those needles. Ugh…”

“You’re a hunter,” I remark.

“Was. I’ve been out of the game for a couple of years. I heard that this was happening, and thought it couldn’t hurt to be prepared.” She looks between me and Dean. “You guys showed up right on time.”

After we get the mess cleaned up and get back to the Impala, we introduce ourselves (“Winchesters? I’m honored to have been helped by legends then,” she mused with a smile.) and I know I’m staring, but I can’t seem to stop either. She’s all wide-eyed wonder and innocence, artistic talent, and a skilled (retired) hunter.

“Is your brother always this articulate?” She jokes with Dean.

“Nah. I have trouble getting the nerdy sasquatch to shut his cakehole half the time,” Dean fires back.

I reach out and slap him in the back of the head. The annoyed sound of his “Ow, you bitch!” is satisfying. Jerk. 

‘You two really are brothers.” This time, there is a wistfulness in her smile. But it vanishes as she continues, “Since you saved my ass a moment ago, how about I treat you to a homemade dinner, and you can stay at my place for the night - sound good?”

Dean, surprisingly, declined. His blonde from the bar was meeting him at the diner across the street. Which also meant he could kick me out of the motel room for the night. So he says his goodbyes and skips off. 

Seriously, he _skipped_. He’s so weird sometimes.

Which leaves me with _her_. 

And with those eyes gazing at me like that, and that shy smile on her lips, who am I to say no? 

**_To be continued…_ **


	3. Hide My Head, I Wanna Drown My Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets her side of the story, and a few revelations before dinner. Tears ensue, and reconciliation is possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Characters: Sam Winchester and Reader (mentions of Reader’s family, including a canon character)**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Warnings: Graphic mentions of violence and death, brief mentions of suicide, vomiting, family dysfunction, and a surprise SPN character**
> 
>  
> 
> **Word Count: 3,385**
> 
>  
> 
> **A/N: Hello hello! This was meant to be shared earlier, but I was caught up in a family visit and holiday decorating. Fun times.**
> 
>  
> 
> **Anywho, brief summary: we return to the present in which Sam is settling in after leaving the hospital and we get her side of the story. If you’re expecting normal, don’t; after all, this is Supernatural. But there is plenty of dark, and we get right into it here. Don’t be fooled, though - this is just scratching the surface of what’s to follow. But there’s also lighter moments and the start of reconciliation in this chapter.**

This wasn’t the house I remembered. Not that that was a bad thing.

She had a new place downtown: an updated loft downtown that she owned thanks to an inheritance after her dad passed away. Wide, spacious, with windows and skylights that made it look so much brighter. It’s cozy, with personal touches that were so genuinely her. And, she assured, it was heavily warded from demons, reapers, everything that kept monsters out. Especially angels. (“After that whole apocalypse went down, I really didn’t want to go toe-to-toe with a winged psychopath.”)

After a quick tour around, she led me to the guest room. It had every creature comfort with a couple extras: a mini-fridge, a laptop and printer, a flat-screen TV, a game console, DVDs and games, and a full bookcase.

My head spun.

Her voice brought me back to my senses. “If there's anything I missed...like any favorite foods or something, make a list of everything. I have no problem getting it for you. Make yourself at home.” 

I missed her smile so much. I had dreams about that smile.

I nodded dumbly before sitting down on the bed. This was too good to be real. But it was.

A roof over my head. A bed to sleep in. Real food. And a friend who cared about whether I lived or not. 

I had so many questions. She stood there watching me, like she was anticipating my next move.

It rushed out before I could stop it. “I thought you were dead.”

She nodded calmly.

“But how? I mean, the explosion alone should have -”

“Blown me apart? I know,” she finished, the words spat out. “Trust me, I know what you’re thinking. And there’s something that I never told you.”

“If it’s too much, we don’t have to-” 

“I promised you, Sam. And I keep my promises.”

“Still, it doesn’t have to be-” She raised a hand to silence me before sitting down on the bed next to me. I knew that look well. She wanted to get this out before she lost her nerve.

“So my dad, my brother, and I hunted together - you know all of that,” she began. “And that Dad’s family hated it, especially his mother. They were all scholars, perceivers. They thought hunters were just grunts, a bunch of uneducated, bloodthirsty animals with no grasp of the supernatural forces that existed. But Dad always felt that field experience was the best way to learn. He trained my big brother, and they trained me when I was ready. I was nine, just a few years younger than him.

“Fast forward about twelve years. We’re clearing out a vamp’s nest in Omaha. It was routine, and it was going alright. Up until my grandmother showed up. She hated my dad, but she definitely had it out for me. Before I could say a word, she pulls a gun and I took one in the stomach.”

Anger swelled inside me. Her grandmother...

I would have given anything for a chance to hang the bitch.

“She got drained immediately. My dad tried to reach me, but a vamp beat him to it. They took me away, turned me by force. Then kept me until I was rabid, ready to kill without question. So they sent their little attack dog on my own flesh and blood.”

A shuddering breath left me as I looked at her. She remained composed even as her voice wavered. “Dad wasn’t willing to kill his child. I wasn’t willing to kill him. Neither of those things stopped my brother though. He was fully convinced that I was unredeemable. A monster. Maybe I was. But if that were true...why couldn’t I turn on my family? But he took his machete, I felt it sear through my neck for a moment...and my world went black.”

I couldn’t breathe. Her eyes went dark, seething with rage. “I died...for all of three days. Found out later that Dad...he, um...went to the crossroads and made a deal for his soul. He wanted his daughter back, alive and well, never to be harmed again. I think he meant to take me out of the hunting life and keep me safe. The crossroads demon, however, might have misinterpreted.”

She leveled her gaze on me, and I couldn’t find a lie in them. “I haven’t been able to die since then. And it’s not like I didn’t try.” Pain seared in my chest at that statement.

Her head shook and she went on. “My brother had already fled - Dad didn’t have the stomach to kill him. But he sent him away. Dad and I spent his last ten years hunting, researching, and just...I did what I could to make the time we had left together as good as it could be. Watching the hellhounds come for him...the hunter’s funeral...his family disowning us...it almost destroyed me. You know, the only time they wanted to talk to me was after they discovered that he left everything to me in his will. And they were pissed. Frankly, I didn’t care. I was still mourning him.

“I couldn't say exactly when I started drinking. I just picked up a bottle and didn’t stop….shit, I didn’t even like the stuff. But it numbed the pain for a while. I stopped hunting. Cut myself off from everyone that mattered. Did a lot of shit that I'm not proud of and still hesitate to speak about. When someone literally pulled me off the streets and forced me into rehab, the doctors didn't think I would survive. Neither did I. But that man saved my life.”

I looked at her questioningly.

“You know him as Dr. Andrew Dupea.” 

She went on as I sat there, stunned. “He was my patron, or sponsor. Back then, he was in charge of the AA group I attended and had been sober for 20 years. He and his wife opened their home to me, helped me find ways to keep motivated, let me vent when everyone pissed me off. They helped me learn to invest in bonds and stocks, and that paid off in ways I couldn’t have imagined. They saved my life, got me motivated to help people again. Still didn’t hunt much, and struggled with PTSD and anxiety, but I became a researcher and assisted other hunters.”

“I was clean for about a year when I met you and Dean. February 23rd, that's my anniversary. You two are the reason I got back in the game. And demons noticed. They knew about the deal, tormented me with it every chance they got. They kept...they kept saying that they couldn’t kill me. But they could definitely kill you. And I panicked. Worst anxiety attack I ever had. So when that car accident happened…”

“I couldn’t get you out in time,” I whispered. My throat hurt. “ I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t...it was my fault that it even happened.”

She turned my head to face her. “That. Was not. Your fault, Sam. And...I didn’t want to be saved.” My eyes widened and filled with tears. But she kept going. “I couldn’t risk losing you like that. The nightmares were getting worse, and I couldn’t stop. The only thought that gave me peace was knowing I wouldn’t bring any more trouble.”

Her name caught on a hard lump in my throat. I couldn’t help the shaking or the tears this time. She held me through it.

“The girl you knew died in that accident. I came back here, changed my identity, left my old life behind. But I followed the underground reports from an old hunter friend of mine, followed your exploits, and just resigned myself to never seeing you again. I didn't think I ever would until you showed up on my doorstep. Unconscious in the snow...”

She shook her head, eyes brimming with tears again. She didn't have to finish the rest. She had been by my side every night, holding me as I was sick and shaking. She saw me at my ugliest and my lowest, and stayed through it all. 

“I'm exhausted, Sam,” she said in a small voice as her tears fell. “I thought I'd never see you again. And I was so scared you wouldn't make it...you have no idea how glad I am that you're here right now. Or how sorry I am for hurting you.”

I held her tight as we sat on the bed, rocking her slowly. “I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here. I'm not leaving.”

In that room, we held each other and cried. We cried together until we had tired ourselves to sleep, grieving for all the time we lost, the people taken from us, and the life that we had been denied.

* * *

When I woke up a few hours later, it was dark and I was alone. But something smelled incredible. My stomach growled and all but dragged me into the kitchen.

She was milling around in a black apron with her locks pulled up into a ponytail, arranging slices of Italian bread around a saucer of olive oil with seasoning and what looked like Parmesan cheese. A pan of red sauce with meatballs cooked slowly next to a steaming pot of pasta. A giant bowl of salad sat nearby.

“You're just in time,” she greeted as I sat on a stool. “Everything’s done.”

“Smells amazing,” I remarked.

“Thanks. Figured you would want some real food for a change. There's even dessert. And oh look,” she motioned to the bowl of ice on the counter and two wine glasses. “A bottle of the finest sparkling red grape juice money can buy.”

I went ahead and set the tables while she prepared the plates. It was surreal and familiar all at once, like we had been doing this for ages. 

I won’t lie. I didn't eat; I _inhaled_ everything set before me. Two plates of spaghetti, half the platter of bread and seasoned olive oil (which was unbelievable), and a bowl and a half of the salad. “Stuffed” didn't even begin to cover how I felt afterward. None of that seemed to faze her though; she just smiled and ate. 

After the meal, she collected the plates and ask – no, ordered – me to roll myself over to the couch to rest and digest while she stored the leftovers and loaded the dishwasher. She came back with her glass of juice and sat next to me with both legs crossed and feet resting on the coffee table. She was looking straight ahead, still smiling.

“I remember the first meal I had after leaving rehab,” she mused. “Chicken piccata with artichokes over angel hair pasta. Almost three plates and chocolate mousse for dessert. Sped through that like it was my last meal. Lost it down the toilet about an hour later. That was a first.”

That surprised me a little. She always had more of an iron stomach than I did. 

“Doc did warn me about that,” I replied. “I really don't care. It was too good not to pig out on.”

“You might be able to handle it better. But just in case, there's warm ginger ale on top of the fridge.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.” 

“Anytime.”

I had to chuckle. “This is weird, isn't it?”

“Incredibly,” she answered quickly. “But in a good way, you know? Kinda like -”

“We never left,” I finished. 

“Exactly.” 

“So, um...how is this going to work?”

She took a deep breath. “Well, Dr. Dupea asked me to be your sponsor. Honestly, I feel like another sponsor, a man, can relate to you better.”

“But-”

“However,” she interrupted. “It’s entirely your choice. It's recommended to have a same-sex sponsorship, but not required.”

“I know...but I feel more comfortable with you.”

“Yeah, I know. I just-”

I felt a little disappointed. “You don't want to do it?”

“I'm concerned about one thing, Sam. And you know what it is.”

I did know. But I also knew that it could wait. And I said as much.

“What we said back then...”

“That hasn't changed. None of that has changed. But I don't want it to seem like I'm taking advantage of you in any way. With you recovering and all...”

“It's too soon. But I still want you to be my sponsor. For one, I know you won't take any of my shit.”

She smirked. “This is true.”

“Plus, you really are the only friend I have now.”

Her eyes closed tight as her chest rose and fell sharply. “You're sure about this.”

It was a statement, not a question. “Absolutely sure.”

“In that case... your doctor gave me this manual of guidelines to follow...” 

“Mmhmm...”

“But I know how much you hate too many rules.”

I grinned. “So you're still playing by ear?”

“Damn straight I am.” She smirked. 

“I like this so far.”

“However, there's a few rules I'm required to enforce as your sponsor. Safety and all that.”

“Of course.”

“For starters, I don't keep any alcohol in the house.”

“They’re worried about either of us relapsing?”

“Not really, but the point is to handle stress without chemical dependency. And alcohol just fucks up your system when there’s too much. So there’s more focus on moderation.”

“So much for nights out with the boys then,” I joked.

“No toga parties for you. Now pay attention.”

“Yes ma'am.” I saluted.

“Smart ass,” she mumbled. “Anyway, you have to take your prescriptions on time. If you experience any weird symptoms, let me know right away. Also, I have to keep track of your progress and how you're feeling. I will let you decide how you want to do that.”

“So...I don't have to talk to you if I don't want to?” Doc had made it clear that on top of attending AA meetings with my sponsor/patron, it was mandatory to check in every day and talk about how I'm doing. I didn't mind talking to her – it was the meetings I couldn't stand. 

“There will be days where you won't want to be around anyone. Just the sound of someone's voice will piss you off. I'm saying that, in case that happens, you also have the option of sending a video message, voicemail, even a text. As long as I hear from you every day, there's no problem.”

“I can live with that.”

“Good.” She turned to look at me before she went on. “There are few things I will deny you. Unless it's to keep you safe. The first thirty days sucks, no matter what. In that time, I'm here to help in any way I can. Whatever you need, I'll get it. Clothes, food, porn, whatever. No hookers though.”

“Ha! Like that's gonna happen.”

“Just saying.”

“No need. I hear you loud and clear.”

“Good. ‘Cause repetition is a pain in the ass.”

“I thought I was a pain in the ass.”

“You still are a pain in the ass. You just never grew out of it.”

I slapped her on the arm. She kicked me in the shin. Hard.

“Ow! Bitch...” I'm sorry, but that hurt.

“Always were a sweet talker,” she gently chided. 

I grabbed a pillow and tossed it at her head. She snatched it out of the air and attacked me with it. We collapsed in a fit of laughter and pillow fighting. 

Yup. Just like old times.

She laid her head on my shoulder.  “There's something else.”

“What's that?”

“You won't have the thick skin you used to have for a while. And you won't have the numbness to hide behind.”

“I know.”

“So if I say or do anything that bothers you, let me know. I don't want you to feel as though you have to hide or suppress anything. Yell, curse, cry, scream, throw things, hit something...whatever you need to do. Just get it out of your system. Okay?”

I nodded, afraid of what that meant. I didn't want to hurt her in any way. 

“You're gonna be vulnerable for a while. It's part of the healing process. I'm going to give you space when you need it, but I'll also be on your case whether you like it or not. But it's only because I have every faith you're going to get through this.”

“You have more faith in me than I do.”

“Someone has to.”

I leaned my head against hers, breathing her in. It was a mix of fruit and the scent left after it rains. “I'm glad it's you.” 

We sat together in silence for a long time. At least until my stomach started to react to my earlier feeding frenzy and I made a beeline for the bathroom. She rubbed my back as my dinner came back up to greet the toilet, and brought water to rinse my mouth afterward and bath towels. When I finally emerged from the bathroom after taking a shower, there was a glass of ginger ale with no ice waiting for me on the counter. 

Fuck, I hate when she's right. 

Okay no, not really.

**

**Video Journal**

**January 2nd, 2016**

**9:14pm**

_I have been officially clean for 1,054 days. 41 more days until my third year of sobriety._

_Earlier this morning, Sam was released from the hospital. It was an emotional day for the both of us. There was a lot more crying than I imagined there would be, before and after we left the center. To be honest, I half expected him to yell and scream and tell me to fuck off when he saw me. I felt like I deserved it._

_But...when he said that he could never hate me, I started coming undone._

_Maybe it was our respective vulnerabilities that made it such a sensitive time. Maybe we were both just tired of holding it together. Or maybe we just missed the hell out of each other._

_Whatever the case, he's here. He's safe. And I'm glad to have my best friend back._

_You know what else? I'm also glad he cut to the chase when we made it back here._

_As much as I dreaded that conversation, he had every right to know why I played dead, why I kept the secrets that I did. He deserved that, and much more._

_*takes a deep breath*_

_Okay, so I've never minced words...and I won't start now._

_My grandmother was an absolute bitch.  I am well aware that hate is a strong word; however, I find that loathe is much more powerful._

_So given that context..._

_I fucking loathed that woman and my brother – for what they did to me and my dad._

_Not that Dad was a saint, I'm not saying that at all. However, Tyler Jackson Walker was still the best man I ever knew. As a parent, he loved me enough to fight for me instead of actually fighting me, as dear brother Gordon did. Dad had been an only child, the light of his parents' life._

_Well, now I’m the last one standing._

_It could be so easy to hate those piss-poor excuses for human beings. But I can't seem to now, for two reasons:_

_One, if it wasn't for them sucking so hard at life, I would never have met Sam._

_The Twelve Steps is all about finding and maintaining a spiritual balance. Which includes being able to forgive in all ways. Still working on that with them, even though they're both dead now.  But I digress._

_Two, it's a waste of energy...and there's someone much more important who needs me right now._

_No, let me rephrase that. He doesn't need me._

_He does, however, need to stand on his own again._

_Which brings me to the twelfth and final step, according to AA:_

_**Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to others, and to practice these principles in all our affairs**. _

_Although this last step means something more to me now than it did when I first began._

_Especially since I agreed to be Sam's sponsor._

_Wow._

_Here's hoping that I don't fuck this up._

**END OF JOURNAL ENTRY**


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